Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Emily
The drive from Oregon to Montana is thirteen hours of obnoxious podcasts and even worse gas station coffee. At this point, I’ve lost all motivation to ‘become the CEO of my own life,’ my veins hum with a toxic amount of caffeine.
By the time I cross the state line, the lush, damp green of the Pacific Northwest has been replaced by the vast, amber and blue expanse of the Skylark Valley.
Logically, I should have driven Dad’s old truck. It was far more capable of a long-distance haul than my little pride and joy—my Mini Cooper—but in reality, I’d had to sell the Chevy to afford the gas money to get here, plus a little extra to keep me afloat.
So, here I am: my entire existence shoved into whatever I could fit into a subcompact car. Surprisingly, I’m not even mad about it. There’s something completely cathartic about shedding a lifetime of belongings, whittling my world down to a few boxes of what I actually need.
I shift downward in my seat, my lower back starting to ache from a drive with far too few rest stops.
I keep a close eye on the Google Maps transition on my dashboard, slowing as the blue line nears the final turn.
I’m a notorious nightmare for taking the wrong exit, and I can’t afford a detour tonight.
The sky is turning a beautiful, almost bruised ombre of dusky purple and orange—the kind of light you only get at nine-thirty on a Montana June evening. A single star hangs in the expanse, almost as if it were the North Star guiding me back to the only place that ever felt like a beginning.
The sign for the Yellow Bell Ranch looms larger as I travel down the road.
The strangest pang of nostalgia twinges in my gut.
I make the turn, the tires of the car protest as they hit the dirt track leading to the main house.
A cocktail of anxiety and apprehension begins to bubble.
Dust kicks up in thick plumes behind me, coating my rear window and almost swallowing my little car whole.
I slow to a crawl as I notice the silhouettes of horses in the distance, their coats catching the last of the copper light.
My heart does a strange little rhythmic gallop.
God, I haven’t ridden in so long. I’m not even sure I’d remember how to hold the reins, let alone stay in a saddle.
As the track curves, the ranch house finally comes into view. It’s even more imposing than I remember—a fortress of stone and timber that seems to grow right out of the earth. And there, standing on the porch as if he’s been waiting since the moment I hung up the phone, is Owen.
I pull the Mini to a stop outside the front steps, the engine ticking as it cools. I’m a structural engineer with nothing left to build, arriving at a millionaire’s ranch in a car that looks like a child’s toy compared to the vast landscape.
Here goes nothing.
I step out onto the land, the dry Montana heat wrapping around me like a dusty, familiar blanket. I shut the car door and stand there for a second, looking up at the comforting figure waiting at the top of the porch steps.
“Well, that’s an interesting mode of transportation you’ve got there, I’ll give you that.” Owen chuckles, his voice echoing off the timber beams. “Though I’m not sure how long that’s going to survive on these old dirt tracks.”
I let out the biggest smile I’ve felt like giving in a long time, slightly amused by his comment. I climb the steps as Owen reaches his arms out for an embrace. His hug is as grounding as his accent, thick and familiar, much like my father’s.
“Well, when you’re the daughter of a mechanic, you inherit the motor-head genes,” I retort, pulling back. “Hi, Owen.”
“I’m glad you called, sweetheart. I kept thinking about you on the drive home; the guilt was tearing me up.
” His brows furrow with genuine concern.
He takes me gently by the arm, guides me to a large wicker porch chair, and hands me a heavy wool blanket.
“Now, sit. I’ll get you a drink, and you can tell me everything.
You in the mood for tea or something a little stronger? ”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Strong it is.”
Owen pushes his way through the screen door, the spring giving a familiar thwack as it hits the frame. I sit back, exhaling a breath that’s been trapped since the funeral, then take a deep inhale of the cooling summer air. The night air and parched earth clear my senses.
I look over the porch rail at the sheer expanse of the Miller empire.
I haven’t seen this place in over twenty-three years, yet it feels like yesterday that I was running away from the Miller boys just beyond the corral.
In the distance, two figures catch my eye on the brow of the hill.
They’re too far away to make out, but I can see they’re on horseback.
I assume they’re ranch hands, or possibly Owen’s sons. If they still live here, that is.
Despite spending my early childhood here, growing up with Wyatt, Jackson, and Kassie as practically siblings, I have no idea where they are in life now.
I’m not even sure I’d be able to recognize them.
As the memories spark, the two figures begin to draw nearer, their silhouettes lengthening in the twilight.
The screen door cracks open again. Owen returns with two cut-glass tumblers, the ice clinking with every movement. Compared to the stoic Owen I met at Dad’s funeral, he’s far more at ease here. The Owen I remember.
“There you go. A little Montana tonic to fix everything.” Owen beams, taking the seat next to me.
“Thank you, Owen.” I take a sip of the amber liquid. The bourbon is high-end. It burns and warms my throat all the way down to my stomach. “God, I needed that.”
My shoulders finally melt into the seat. As the sun disappears, turning the sky indigo, a sudden chill cuts through the air. I pull the wool blanket over my lap, the glass cold against my palm.
“So, Emily. It’s been a long time since you were here, huh?”
“Yeah. Though it looks exactly like it did when I left…I think. God, it’s been a lifetime.”
“Hm. It really has.” Owen looks down at his boots, and a flash of that lingering guilt crosses his face. “Now, if I remember correctly, you always were a stubborn and proud little thing.” He smiles. “I’m assuming calling me took a hell of a lot of guts. You’re in a tight spot, right?”
“You could say that,” I exhale loudly. “But please, Owen, I don’t expect anything from you. I just needed somewhere to stay for a while until I figure things out. Put me in the bunkhouse. I’ll clean. I’ll fix the vehicles—whatever you need. Just please, don’t give me special treatment.”
“Young lady, if you think I’m putting you in the bunkhouse with those idiots, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.” He chuckles, the sound deep and hearty. “The guest room is already made up. It has its own bathroom, and you aren’t going to lift a damn finger.”
“Owen, please. I don’t want to take advantage. I’m more than capable.”
“Emily, before you and your old man left, you were family. Your dad was good to me. He saved my ass more times than I could count. I promised him before you both left that if you ever needed my help, I would be there in a heartbeat.”
I look down into my glass, and a sting pinches my eyes. I’d left here so young, but every single memory I have of this soil is a happy one. It feels like the only safe place left in the world.
“Now,” Owen says, his voice dropping into a tone that is both protective and dangerous. “When you’re ready, you start from the top. And if you need me to kill anyone for you, consider it arranged.”